Slave Girl
by Hturanna
Summary: An agressive slave girl disrupts a crowded, dusty marketplace in Carlormene. What will happen next? Only time will tell...
1. Chapter 2

**A/N **This is my first fanfic, but I have been reading them for a while so hopefully I do okay. Oh yeah, and Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or Calormene, they belong to C.S Lewis.

**Chapter 1**

Dust and heat defined the crowded marketplace.

People of all ranks, shapes and sizes had gathered from miles around. For it was the time of the annual _Insshalla Tesrok _festival, a week where the people celebrated Tash's blessings on the Tisroc. Each year they congregated in the public squares and marketplaces of cities and towns. During the day they bought, sold and traded, and worshiped Tash and other gods at the local temple. During the night, they partied…

It was now midday and, although the heat was now unbearable, trade continued. Thirsty slaves cried out for water. The wealthy lazed under marquees, fanned by their servants. Sellers called their wares. Dusty Peasants walked the rough paving of the market. Insects buzzed over the trays of _sokarr _sweets and dried fruit that lay on the ground. Nearby, the sound of a slave auction could be heard. And over everything; fruit, silks, tapestries, tools, nobles and peasants alike, clung a fine layer of dust…

"Let me go!" The cry resounded around the market square. "Let me go, you halfwit musclemen!"

As the voice became louder, the sounds of pandemonium could be heard. Sounds of stalls crashing over, of angry traders bellowing, of children crying: of people scrambling out of the way of the menace who had caused such a commotion. And still the hoarse voice continued:

"If I could get my hands on you I'd rip you into tiny little pieces. And as I tore each bit of flesh out, you know what I'd do? I'd laugh. Oh yes, I'd laugh just like this; ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…"

As the laughter continued it bordered on madness. It became shriller and shriller until, with a yelp of pain it finally stopped. There was a stunned silence in bazaar and then - then they came on view.

Led by a tarkaan whose appearance was both proud and fierce, four huge servants entered the square. Each pulled a rope, which was attached to the wrists of something that was barely recognizable as human. Caked with dust and blood, it appeared dead as they dragged it along the cruel, rough paving. Fresh blood was mingling with the old, black, clotted stuff in its matted hair. The Tarkaan strutted to the center of the square.

"Hear ye, oh people!" he called. "This is what happens to those who dare to abhor our great empire: this is what happens to mockers, traitors and northern barbarians! They suffer pain and agony… and eventually die!"

Gesturing to the captive he continued. "I realize that you have been interrupted in your businesses. But there will be a penance. Tomorrow, for your own pleasure, this snake, this daughter of a dog will be whipped…"

As he spoke a small pauper gave him an urn of water. The tarkaan paused and poured water on his face. As it ran down his face in muddy rivulets, a gasp went around the crowd. For thick dust had concealed a wonder. This tarkaan had not the brown skin of a Calormene, but rather the white of a northerner!

"Ah, I see you have seen my white skin! Yes, good people, have you not heard of the white Tarkaan? He has returned."


	2. Chapter 3

**A/N**Sorry you had to wait so long for my next chapter guys, but I've kinda been busy with grade 12. However, since I recently quit my job, I've found I've had a bit more time on my hands and so have decided to try and write a chapter a week. (-;

And if you have any suggestions please feel free to review or email me.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that C.S. Lewis wrote.

**Chapter 2**

_The ancient legend of the white Tarkaan is enshrined in mysterious folds of time, fire-side tales, imaginations of young boys and decaying, cobwebbed tomes. The traditional story goes that the white Tarkaan was one of the many 'sons of Tash' who are responsible for the creation of many of the more masculine emotions. One day on of these 'sons' looked down from Paraiso, the Calormene heaven, and saw a beautiful women with golden hair walking along the bank of a small brook. He instantly fell in love with her and travelled to earth to find her. After a series of trials and adventures_ (see Volume III – Encounters of Heroism) _he found her and declared his love. Unfortunately, the women happened to be of the northern races and such a declaration was strictly forbidden in the _Leisecratas de Ceu. _Tash soon appeared to them and took his 'son's' immortality. He also avowed that if ever they had a child, they would both die and the child and his decedents: semi-god, semi-mortals, would be cursed by earth and heaven, becoming crueller and more corrupt with each generation until the last decedent was killed by the sword._

_The women, already with child, gave birth in the months afterwards and both she and the son of Tash were stricken with an illness that gradually killed them. No-one knows what happened to the child directly afterwards, but later he reappeared, a young man with pale skin, dusty hair and astonishing strength and intelligence. He had travelled from the northern land in which he was born, to Calormene and rose from desperate poverty to become one of the most powerful Tarkaans in the land. He and his decedents were always renound for their daring feats and influence, as well as their increasing cruelty and disreputable associates as the generations passed. However, perhaps the thing that they were most known for was the horrific nature of their deaths…_

Crash! Dust erupted everywhere as Altair slammed the volume shut. Spring was in the air and his surging blood cried for freedom. He had to escape from this dim, airless library before he exploded.

As he rushed out of the room, huge piles of books began tumbling and precious, thousand-year-old papers flew. By the time his tutor rose to his feet with an exclamation, he was long gone.

"Altair, where are you going? Come back! Come back this instant! Altair, if you don't come back right now I will speak to your father." The wizened old instructor waddled out of the room. This time, however, the precious tomes and papers stayed reasonably still.


	3. Chapter 4

**A/N** Hey! You may have noticed that the story took a slightly different direction in the last chapter. Don't panic and go insane or something. Read on and after a few chapters…you will understand. By the way, thanks for all your reviews. I really like criticism – after all, my writing can only get better.

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, Carlormene ect.

**Chapter 3**

A rich fragrance hung in the air as servants gracefully carried large, decorative pots of scented water or thick, luxuriant towels to and fro across the cool marbled floor. Languid women lounged about in sheer robes or swam in clear, man-made pools. The spacious, well-lit room was in no way lacking in feminine chatter for, after all, this was _the_ opportunity for the ladies of the city to be brought up-to-date on the latest news, gossip and scandals of Calormene nobility. This decorous place was one of the renowned public bath-houses of Tashbann and contrasted starkly with the clamour, heat and stink of many of the streets outside, where the _Insshalla Tesrok _festival was being celebrated.

_Calormene baths have long been famous. They originated in the houses of rich merchants, who, after long hours of conducting official business on the hot, dusty streets of Tashbaan would desire to wash off the accumulated dirt and sweat with cool, refreshing water. A merchant would order his servants to fill a basin with scented water and gently rinse and massage his aching feet and calf muscles._

_Eventually, the idea of washing at the close of each day rather then only once a month caught on with nobility. The simple rinsing method was replaced with a complex ritual that included at least two pools and whole-body massage. The pools were often filled with expensive perfumes and spices or the petals of rare flowers. Of course, only the affluent could afford such facilities in their own homes, but a growing middle class of successful tradesmen and less successful merchants began to desire the comfort of the illustrious Calormene bath. Thus, in the reign of Fadil Tisroc (about the year 1500), the first public bath was introduced to satisfy the burgeoning middle class. _

_Although this first public bath was restricted to males only and was relatively simple and unadorned, it became increasingly popular, not only as a place to cleanse the body and soothe the muscles after a long day, but also as a place to socialise and even to conduct business. In just a few years, public bathhouses had sprung up all throughout Carlormene's major cities. Although there was always an entrance fee, to prevent 'undesirables' from entering, it was usually low enough to allow middle class 'commoners' daily entrance. In time, bathhouses for women also emerged. Thus, bathing became an important part of Carlormene culture._

Suddenly the parrot-like noise of the gossips, gigglers and scandalmongers stopped. A deadly still came upon servants, slaves and bath-goers as all eyes stared blatantly in one direction. In the entrance-way stood the slight figure of a girl, probably in her thirteenth year. The girl seemed to momentarily be stricken by the stares but then hastily squared her shoulders and walked proudly forward, ignoring snide comments and sniggers that gradually began to erupt around her. Slowly, she approached a middle-aged servant with an expressionless face and requested a bathing robe.

"Whatsoever the Tarkheena desires that shall she have" replied the servant demurely.

The girl removed her outer garments and wrapped the white, see-through robe over her simple silken shift, tying it with a golden cord. As she slowly lowered herself into the deliciously cool water of the pool nearest her, most of the women returned to their previous occupations. This was not before, however, one particularly ambitious social-climber managed to abrasively call out to her.

" Oh Kalila, the most sweet and innocent of tarkheenas, could it be that thou hast lost some of thy innocence?"

The group around her exploded into violent giggling.

Kalila ignored the comment and placed her head under water to shut out the noise, the stares, the rumours…and the pain. Not, of course that she cared what _they_ thought; they were only grasping gossips who thrived on the disgrace and humiliation of others. Not that any of the rumours were true, of course. She supposed the situation _would_ have been terrible if the reports were accurate, for then she would have had the guilt of her conscience weighing heavily upon her. Yet to have been charged as guilty when completely blameless, to not even have the opportunity to acquit herself; surely that was far worse. And for such a crime! Of course, the punishment, even if unofficial, was unbearable. To have the anger and disgust of her father and three brothers bearing down upon her, to see the disappointed expression on her mother's face, to be knocked off her social pedestal, to lose…lose _him_. And all because of one grasping, horrible, nasty – but of course a true tarkheena should never use such words. What was she going to do?

**A/N** I, know, I know, I'm sort of cutting it off here. But seriously, there will be more soon…


	4. Chapter 5

**A/N** Thanks for all your reviews. I will seriously try to make my chapters longer. I guess at the moment I'm trying to create scenes of Carlormene life and first impressions of characters, which is why the story may not be flowing as it should. Anyway, I've also edited previous chapters slightly, so hopefully there aren't so many grammatical errors.

Here goes:

**Chapter 4**

Drifting in and out of consciousness, she gradually came to. The first thing she noticed was the pain. It permeated every inch of her screaming body. The next thing that came to her attention was the intense throbbing of her head. She was sure that she had never had a splitting headache like this before. Slowly she fluttered her eyes open and realised that open or shut, there was no difference. The darkness that surrounded her was complete.

Groaning, she slowly lifted a hand to her aching head. Rather than feel soft silky hair, however, her fingers touched something warm and sticky. The unforgettable, chemical scent of blood washed over her as she lowered her hand. She battled with nausea and only just won.

Little by little she raised herself into a sitting position. Every inch felt like a million tiny pins were piercing her body. She wondered how she got here, why she was in so much pain, but it hurt to think. She touched the floor. It was earthen, cool and slightly damp. She felt around her, but could find no evidence of a wall. Which was a pity, because there was no way she was going endure the pain of moving in order to find a wall to lean on.

She directed her eyes upwards, and amazingly, thought she saw a glimmer of light. She decided that she would ignore the cries of her body for a discovery so phenomenal as this and moved into a better position. It appeared that there was a row of very straight cracks in the darkness above her that allowed a slight glow of, well something, to enter this pitchy 'place'.

At least the place didn't smell too bad. It was musty, earthy and close, but it could have been worse. Since she was in a different position now, she again felt around for a wall, against which she could rest. Unfortunately, she didn't find a wall. What she did find was flesh. She screamed. She couldn't help herself. This place was already dark and creepy enough without adding another element of the unknown to it. Quickly, she retreated, ignoring the complaints from her aching body. She slid along her bottom, trying to get as far away from whatever it was as possible.

She had not gone too far before her back slammed into something hard. Now her body was really upset. Groaning, she felt it and found it was the wall she had been so eager to find. Then she realised that her groans were mingling with the moans of another. Gasping, she shut her mouth. The 'something' shifted and moaned. She stayed still and quiet as a mouse.

Suddenly a voice spoke in the darkness. It wasn't hers. "Who…who's there?" it said.

It was remarkable how, in so few words, the voice could communicate so much. The slight tremble in it told her that its owner was apprehensive, maybe even frightened, possibly hurt. Its treble pitch told her that the speaker was male; probably young. Of course, she surmised, it could be a female with a _very _deep voice. In any case, its tone was nice - strong and clean and slightly husky. It was a tone that probably belonged to someone that was trustworthy. Still, she wasn't sure if she should speak. Her experiences with males of late had not been agreeable.

The voice spoke again. " Look I know someone is in 'ere and you should know that I – despite my weakened state – am very capable of "knocking your block off" as we say where I come from."

She had never been very successful at resisting a challenge - or a mystery. "And where, may I ask, _do _you come from?"

"Ah ha!" said the voice. "I knew it was a girl. No male could ever scream at that pitch. And…you are a girl, aren't you?"

" The question is not so much whether I am a daughter of Eve as whether you are a Son of Adam – or whatever these desert crawlers call them. And you still have not answered my original question."

"Well I'm not sure who my father is – I'm an orphan you see. But if I did 'ave a father I would be a son. And as to your first question, I'm from London, East End. "

She pondered this for a moment. It took her a while, because the throbbing in her head, which had been temporarily suspended as a result of the excitement of discovering another being inhabited this dank hole, had returned. Finally she said, "Boy from Lundunn, Eastand, may I have your name?"

"It's Christopher, but you can call me Kip."

"Kip…" she whispered. Her head was pounding now, not slowly, rhythmically, like the waves against the western shore, but at an ever escalating tempo. She supposed that she should tell the boy her name, just for politeness sake, but…what was her name? Kip was talking again, but his voice sounded distant, like an echo. Now…her name. She thought hard, dug deep into her hurting mind. Cassia. That was it. Now to say it.

"Cassia. My name is Cassia, Kip," she managed. " I -" She stoped. The pulsation of her head had escalated to such a speed that she thought it would explode. It did, in a sense. One moment she was acutely aware of her screaming body and the hammering of her head, the next moment, nothing. Blackness.

"Cassia? Are you all right? Cassia!"


End file.
